


Bride of Frankenstein

by Hikou



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh!
Genre: Blueshipping, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-17
Updated: 2017-07-17
Packaged: 2018-12-03 04:20:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11524431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hikou/pseuds/Hikou
Summary: It was a terrible experiment, but Pegasus had to know. [Blueshipping, Seto/Kisara]





	Bride of Frankenstein

He tossed them back like fish into a river, never questioning where he had captured them from or what line he had used to reel them in.

Hope had ballooned the heart of Pegasus J. Crawford back into that of a child. A moment in her arms, a single embrace, had undone him, and while he couldn’t claim innocence, there was a carefree ignorance that did not match his age. He would set the ball in motion. He would release them all into the world until every last Millennium Item floated back to the source of the wellspring.

The price did not occur to him; the price did not matter. The silent tears shed by his Cecelia’s ghost were all he had needed to see. The sad look of resignation her spirit wore had haunted him.

And so he threw all of their cages open with reckless abandon.

He spent weeks in the tombs. He slept on stone floors. He crawled through winding caverns. He photographed, and sketched, and recorded, but rarely did he sleep.

He spent months in his studio, consuming nothing but wine and longing. The cuffs of every shirt he owned were spotted in streaks of paint. He replicated, _listened,_ and then adjusted. Every photo whispered a story to him. Every sketch denoted a personality. Every monster had a soul.

When Pegasus returned to Egypt, he stayed only days. It took a surprisingly short time to open the doors.

The enigmatic Egyptian man who had gifted him his disfiguring, golden eye was not waiting when he descended beneath the dunes. There were no further tests. There was no one to stop him.

And so, high on desperation and giddy with lovesickness, he had set to work systematically calling spirits from stone and introducing them to confines of ink and paper. He worked tirelessly and wiped away tears of blood from his shining, stylized eye as if his handkerchief was not spotted red.

It was in this state of exhaustion and confusion that he first saw her.

He had been waiting for Cecelia to appear, but it was not Cecelia that plagued him now. Cecelia had been fair, but warm with rosy cheeks and a soft-petaled mouth. Although they shared the same forlorn blue eyes, the woman that resided in this tomb was not Cecelia. Like Cecelia, she would not speak.

Frequently, he wished she would.

Several hours were lost to sketching her, but her silvery hair never laid right against her face, her mouth never seemed to set determined enough, and her posture could not be portrayed as both confident and fearful. Tattered shreds of the discarded works traced Pegasus’s progress through the caverns like breadcrumbs leading the way back home.

The only thing he _did_ manage to capture were her sorrowful, blue eyes.

None of his cards matched her delicate form, nor did she belong to any of the tablets in the passages or the great antechamber. In fact, he did not recall the magnificent beast at all until he stumbled back through the caved-in entrance to the burial chamber, where a sealed sarcophagus and a dainty ghost awaited his arrival.

She sat dutifully next to the coffin, one hand folded politely in her lap and the other resting against the bejeweled chest of the man who had been painted on the lid. She had the protective gaze of a mother watching her son slumber; she touched the casket with the intimacy of a lover.

The specter did not look up at Pegasus as he tripped into the room. She did not seem to hear the skidding scrape of crumbled brick against stone, she did not seem to care about his startled gasp, nor did she notice the _thrum_ of voices singing from where they had been tucked safely inside his bag.

She was last, he realized as he gazed upon the large stone carving behind the head of the sarcophagus. She was waiting her turn in the room where she had spent the last 3,000 years with a body Pegasus had not bothered to identify and a dragon with eyes that matched her own.

The Millennium Eye gushed red when she finally turned to him. Cecelia’s unshed tears now dotted her pale eyelashes, and Pegasus understood that she, too, was preparing to say goodbye.

Her alabaster lips parted and only one word escaped before her spectral body blinked out of existence.

_“Seto.”_


End file.
